


Time Enough at Last

by vino_and_doggos



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, F/M, Gen, Greed!Hughes AU, kind of for halloween?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos
Summary: Submitted for your approval: one wants money, women, status, fame, and everything else in the world. The other just wants more time alive, to see his daughter grow, to love his wife for a little longer. Two seemingly different personalities must learn to coexist so that they both can have it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute, hasn't it, friends? I wanted to attempt to write something spooky for Halloween, but I also can't ever do anything on time, so Happy All Saints' Day? I'm going to pretend that works.
> 
> Beta-ed by the wonderful, amazing, PATIENT [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPC_MPDG). Check out her works, you're guaranteed to find something that you love.
> 
> Title is shamelessly stolen from The Twilight Zone. Rod Serling is my favorite.

“First Ishval, now Liore. The East has been a real hotbed, huh?” Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes reclined in his chair, stretching his back a bit. Sitting for so long was really starting to take its toll. And really, how long was he supposed to remain idle? Something, some darkness, dwelled beneath the surface of Amestris. Maes could feel it in his bones.

“It’s not just the East,” Captain Focker said solemnly. “There have been reports of uprisings in the North and West, as well.”

“The bodies are piling up all over. When will it end? Will the government actually be able to stay in control? How has the military managed to sweep so much bloodshed under the rug in the first place?” Hughes’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be in the archive room.”

“Is something wrong?” Focker asked as the door nearly closed on Maes’s cavalry skirt. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?”

With each step he took, Hughes thought of another uprising.

Thinking back, there was South City. Fotset. Pendleton. Most recently, Liore.

But one rebellion (an awful word for it, really) kept coming back to the forefront. The one he had a part in.

Ishval wasn’t that long ago; he remembered being on the ground in the stifling heat and how the coarse, irritating sand niggled its way into every crevice. If he listened closely, to this day he could still hear the echoes of screams and the rattle of rapid gunfire. What he never had to look closely for, however, was the memory of the way the desert soaked up the blood of the fallen, like a sponge that never had its fill. Almost like the ground was thirsty for the blood of the citizens.

Maes had a hunch. And he hoped that he wasn’t right. Mulling over the secret to the Philosopher's stone - human sacrifices - in addition to thinking about the locations of the uprisings, frankly, made him sick.

But looking at the archive room’s map plunged a knife deep into his guts. He started circling every known location of bloodshed on Amestrian soil, then began looking up others. Connecting the dots was simple, even for a non-alchemist; he’d seen Roy do it plenty of times. Life occurred in patterns, and alchemy was no different. Hughes no longer felt sick. It felt like his stomach had dropped out of his body completely.

He lived here. His wife lives here, his daughter, his friends. Images of each of them flashed in his mind in dizzying succession. How could this be happening? How could this be happening here? And how long did they have before the final point on the map also had been soaked in blood?

Numbly, his mouth formed words whose meaning his brain struggled to grasp. “I have to tell Fuhrer Bradley about this right away.”

A slamming sound startled Hughes from his stupefied state. Turning, he saw a buxom woman with beautiful porcelain skin accented with sharp features. Gloves that barely concealed razor-sharp nails extended up past her elbow, and an ouroboros tattoo adorned her chest. Sliding a kunai from the concealed holster underneath his standard-issue Amestrian blue sleeve, he smirked.

“Nice tattoo.”

“Humans are fascinating creatures. You really want those to be your last words?” Lust asked as she lunged at him, fingers extending and piercing his chest clean through. At the same time, Maes’s kunai flew true, hitting her in the dead center of her forehead. His wound gushed crimson, creating a macabre purple when mixed with the blue of his uniform. The kunai, however, reflected clean silver in the low light.

Her fingers retracted, allowing movement again. Hughes’s adrenaline carried him through the door and to the front desk, before realizing that a private line was never truly private, even in military headquarters. Maybe especially in military headquarters. And maybe the fuhrer wasn’t the one to speak to.

Stuttering steps led him to a phone booth just outside the walls of military lines. He quickly dialed Eastern Command, only to be held up once again with red tape. Just as the line clicked over to hold as he was being transferred, Maes heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Put down the receiver, Lieutenant,” Second Lieutenant Maria Ross stated slowly and calmly. She pointed her service pistol at Maes with the conviction of a cold-blooded killer.

The lieutenant colonel turned his head slowly, and for the second time that night, his perceptive eyes narrowed. “Nice try, but you’re not Maria Ross. She has a mole underneath her left eye.”

“How observant of you,” a gravelly voice that most definitely did _not_ belong to Maria Ross said. “How’s this?” A sparkle of red electricity danced across the familiar, yet unfamiliar, face.

“What are you?” Maes asked incredulously.

Ross’s face twisted into a grotesque smile that was unlike anything that Hughes had ever seen cross her face. “Heh, so caught up with technicalities like moles and names that you’re forgetting to be concerned for your life.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hughes answered. He turned back to the phone receiver in front of him, praying to anyone or thing listening that Roy would pick up the other end. The lieutenant colonel surreptitiously slipped the other knife from the holster in his sleeve. “But I have a family waiting at home for me. It would be a shame to disappoint them!”

He whirled around, intending to fling the knife at his assailant, but stopped short when he met the cool green eyes of Gracia.

His lovely, beautiful Gracia.

Frozen, Maes could only watch as the bullet discharged from the creature’s gun, hitting him squarely in the right shoulder, below and to the left of the puncture mark made by the temptress’s impossibly long and sharp fingernails. Slumped over against the unforgiving glass of the telephone booth, he heard a soft click on the other end of the line. He had never hung up the phone. He hoped the sound was Roy hanging up, that he had heard something, anything.

Blood began trickling down his arm, pain blossoming from the wound. Maes felt himself being moved, but he couldn’t summon the energy to focus his eyes enough to see which direction the creature was carrying him. Just as black began seeping into his field of his vision, he heard the same gravelly voice from before say, “You’re coming with me. And you better not die on the way.”

 

* * *

 

Everything seemed to echo off of the cavernous, circular walls in the sewer system below Dublith. As Greed attempted to stealthily make his way through the labyrinthian tunnels, he lamented this fact, wishing that moving along via the concrete walkways was as silent as moving through shadows.

Greed cautiously peered around the corner of a junction, only to see the animated suit of armor inching along as though he were a worm. Making his decision, the homunculus turned the corner and casually walked towards the immortal idiot. He was reminded, yet again, of the reverberations off the stone walls as he approached, when suddenly, the kid’s head popped open to reveal one of his favorite blondes.

“Martel, I’m glad to see you’re safe,” the homunculus said. His voice added to the echo around him. It was making him uncomfortable, like an itch in the dead center of his back that he couldn’t seem to reach.

“Greed!” she exclaimed. “What the hell happened up there? No one else has made it down yet.”

Greed grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest, pushing aside thoughts of his henchmen fighting off the military and the alchemists. “Yeah, things have gotten a little out-of-hand. We need to figure a way out of there.”

“I can’t let you do that,” another voice said calmly from behind the avaricious homunculus.

A chill slid down Greed’s back for reasons unknown. However, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he was going to let his poker face slip. Instead, Greed chose to wear another emotion on his sleeve: exasperation.

“What are you doing here, old man? The most powerful being in the land, swimming around the sewers with rats like us. What a joyous day!”

“Just because I’m about to turn sixty years old,” started Fuhrer King Bradley, his visage calm and genial, “doesn’t mean I won’t be able to finish this job quickly and return home.” As the sentence continued, the expression on his face turned menacing. Or was it a trick of the shadows?

A smirk crossed Greed’s face. “Then retire!” he exclaimed, calling upon his ultimate shield and lunging at Bradley as a slick, black carbon coating began to crawl up his arm. In the next second, however, the homunculus heard a splash. He turned, almost unaware of the horror that awaited him, and saw his right arm, half-hardened by the ultimate shield, writhing in the filthy sewer. Greed’s stomach turned, but not due to pain - the injury barely stung. It was utterly shocking to see your own mutilated limb twisting in the water.

“How did you…” he started, looking at the stump that was crackling with red as it regenerated. “Hm. The old man’s got some moves!” Greed said through gritted teeth, jumping back as the fuhrer advanced towards him, a sword in each hand. In the blink of an eye, Greed dodged another attack, another lunge with a sword. It seemed as though the leader was able to anticipate his movements before the ultimate shield even started to make them.

Another slash. Another stab. Another wound, deeper this time. The stinging had elevated to pain.

The left arm at the wrist. The soft tissue directly underneath his ribcage. Greed couldn’t maintain his shield under King Bradley’s constant barrage of attacks. He parried as the fuhrer came at him again, this time allowing the shield to advance up his right forearm.

Steel struck carbon. 

With a grunt, Greed shoved back against Bradley, attempting to be on the offensive. His fingers fully regenerated, and the shield slid down and created points at the end of each digit, encased in jagged red sparks as they grew long and sharp. Swiping at the old man in front of him, the sharp-toothed homunculus let out a growl.

Greed the avaricious left himself unprotected.

In a flash, in the blink of an eye, in a split second, Greed found himself with swords protruding from his throat. Any movement would mean, at the very least, that he would be rendered useless while his tendons and ligaments reconnected; at worst, his head would have to completely regenerate. It was best just to stay still.

“I may not have an impenetrable shield or talons that can pierce any substance. I may not be able to shift my appearance or dissolve anything with my saliva. But I managed to find a way to distinguish myself,” Bradley monologued. If there weren’t swords stuck into him, Greed would have rolled his eyes. But then, the implication of the fuhrer’s words hit him, and his eyes widened instead.

“You’re - you’re -” he stuttered.

“Any weakness you might have can be seen with my ultimate eye,” Wrath continued as if he didn’t even hear the ultimate shield speak.

“What the hell do you want with me?” Greed managed to stutter out, blood trickling from his mouth. He gritted his teeth and thought of his underlings. Of Martel, Roa, Dolcetto, and Bido, his own little ragtag family. It wasn’t over; his existence couldn’t end like this. There was no way Father’s Wrath was going to win.

Deciding his question was worthy of an answer, Wrath said, “It’s not me that wants anything with you. It would be in your best interest to simply come with me, though. I was told to bring you back alive or as the stone that makes up your being. I’m content with either.”

Greed attempted to swallow around the swords lodged in his throat. It was pointless.

“You might want to take a good look around as we head back to Central,” Wrath said. “It may be the last time you see the outside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPC_MPDG). She deserves Starbucks, friends.

Maes faded into consciousness again. It was difficult to tell exactly how much time had passed in the cold stone cell that he was locked up in, especially since consistent waking hours seemed to elude him. He could have been here a few days or a few weeks. Time was abstract, an important concept when one was floating in the ether between life and death. At least there was always fresh water waiting for him every time he woke up.

The wounds in his shoulder stopped bleeding freely three or four wake-ups ago. The bullet hole right below his collarbone still oozed gently, especially when Hughes prodded at it, attempting to ascertain the damage. The puncture wound closer to his shoulder didn’t have any discharge at all, now. Mostly, though, he hurt like a son of a bitch. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to exist; there was absolutely no way to sit, stand, or lay comfortably.

He wished with all of his being that the family photo that he carried in his inner breast pocket hadn’t been left behind in the phone booth. It would give him endless comfort seeing the face of his beautiful Gracia and his darling, smiling Elicia. He would give anything to hug them one more time, or even to see their faces in the grainy photograph he always carried.

The photo had to be left behind though. He could only hope that Roy was putting the pieces together; he hoped he left enough clues.

Without a body, there was no guarantee that the phone call Maes tried to place wouldn’t just be written off, blood be damned. A phone call that may or may not have been heard, and some blood could be nothing more than a simple prank. Someone who managed to get his personal code, pretending to be him. It could happen. But the photo was solid evidence.

His thoughts became stronger, the strongest they’d been since his capture. Hughes contemplated the obvious shape-shifter who wielded the gun. He would bet any money that they had an ouroboros tattoo somewhere on them. Especially since he met the shape-shifter almost immediately after the voluptuous woman with the sharp, extending fingernails. It seemed too convenient.

Above all else, it seemed quite obvious that this group, the ones with the ouroboros tattoos, also knew the damning history of Amestris. The way that the dots connect.

Maes was yanked from his thoughts when he heard footsteps echoing towards him. The shape-shifter of indeterminate gender materialized from the darkness in front of him. Their greenish-black hair swayed as the creature walked, reminding a slightly delirious Hughes of a palm tree swaying in the breeze. Their lean figure belied defined muscles at first glance, and the lieutenant colonel was mesmerized by the way this being looked like a person, but so obviously was not.

“Ready to come with me, Dad-of-the-Year?” they asked, a mocking tone evident in their voice.

Ever the one for flair, Hughes put aside his pain, smiled and said, “Absolutely, kiddo. Where are we going?” in his best excited dad voice. He hoped it would piss the trigger-happy asshole off, and he was somewhat rewarded as the smile dropped off their face.

“Very funny. Get up; Father is waiting,” the shape-shifter sneered.

“Oh, so I was right with the ‘kiddo’ thing, then?” Maes questioned as he struggled to stand, using the wall as leverage and worming his way up bit by bit. 

The other scoffed and rolled their eyes as they unlocked the iron padlock on the cell. “Do I need to restrain you, or are you going to behave?”

“I really don’t think I’m in much shape to be going anywhere. In fact, I’m probably going to end up leaning on you quite a bit.” Hughes pushed himself off the wall and used the momentum to propel himself toward the opening in the bars. True to his word, Maes caught himself on the one sent to collect him, knees giving way and weight sagging.

Scoffing, the shape-shifter dragged Hughes down the corridor, as if impatient to get to destinations unknown. And, as Maes thought about it, the muscles that this creature had were nowhere near what he thought would be required to support most of his weight; thinking further back, this was the same individual that carried him from the phone booth to here.

Glancing above, he noticed large pipes that seemed to line the ceiling and spread in all directions. Just ahead at an intersection in the tunnels, the lieutenant colonel could see the pipes become more congested.

The unlikely pair continued gimping down the hall together, Maes leaning more and more on his companion as they went. The adrenaline had worn out almost immediately after getting up, but the lieutenant colonel pushed aside his exhaustion and pain in favor of investigating the cavernous room that came into sight as they rounded the corner. Here seemed to be the nucleus of the pipes.

Standing at the base of the conglomeration of pipes was a man. He was tall, with straight blond hair that fell mid-back and a beard to match. Donning a white robe with crisscrossed sashes adorning his torso, Maes couldn’t help but think that he looked like some sort of prophet.

But, as Hughes understood it, prophets were not ones to look down their nose at their followers. He dug for his limited religious knowledge, something that Maes tucked away in the dark crevasses of his unconscious. His brain was screaming at him to focus on escape, on gathering the strength to fight his way out if need be; Maes tried to quiet the riotous noise and focus on what he could remember, but then the figure spoke.

“Thank you Envy. Leave the human there,” the deep voice echoed. 

The shape-shifter replied, “Yes, Father,” and dutifully withdrew its support. Maes’s body crumpled unceremoniously the cold ground. Hughes thought it was somewhat funny that it almost looked like he was kneeling in front of the prophet before him.

Maybe he needed to heed Roy’s advice and get his sense of humor checked.

“How do you know I won’t run away?” Maes asked.

The prophet, who also seemed to be the one that Envy called Father, made a noise in his throat and said, “I doubt you have the strength to make it to the door. But if you believe you do, go on,” he offered with a sweeping gesture towards a door that Maes had not noticed previously. Suspiciously, Hughes cast a wary glance in the door’s direction, but decided against any attempts. He had no clue why he was there, or what he was wanted for, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything.

“That’s what I thought,” the man in white said. “You humans are all the same. Weak. Pitiful.”

Maes grunted as a bolt of pain thundered within his body. Through gritted teeth, he forced out, “Quite an interesting statement there. You look human. One wouldn’t think that you speak about your own kind with such disdain.”

“I may appear mortal,” Father started, “but I am far superior to any human. If you saw a bug on the ground, do you concern yourself with its life? With what it thinks, what it feels? Humans are nothing but insects to me.

“However… insects still have their uses. Bees pollinate. Worms fertilize. And humans provide disguises with less suspicion, especially those that already have high-profile friendships.”

Maes swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“And now that I have both components, let’s attempt what has only ever been successfully completed one other time.”

Turning to the right, the blond cast his gaze upward; Maes followed the angle and, for the first time, noticed a man suspended in the air, swords sticking out of his body at various angles, red electricity occasionally sparking near the entrance wounds.

Hughes was familiar enough with alchemy to recognize the attempts at transmutation. But who was transmuting? And what? Shaking his head minutely to clear his thoughts, Maes wondered if he did die after all, and he was now in some strange sort of afterlife. Was he due to be tortured next?

“Greed. Awaken.” Father watched as the chained and stabbed one stirred.

His eyes were an unnatural shade of purple, and his pupils were shaped like those of a cat’s, Maes noticed. “Well, well… the gang’s almost all here,” the man said with a winning smile, revealing impossibly pointed teeth. “Where are my missing brothers, though? I would love to tell Wrath hello on… proper terms, this time.” His winning smile turned sharp.

“Wrath and Pride are above ground, doing as their told. I would have loved to say the same for you all these years. You have disappointed me for the last time, Greed.”

Hughes felt the ground shifting, concrete grinding against concrete, as a basin filled with a boiling substance rose directly beneath Greed. Dread and nausea filled Hughes’s very being. The feelings only intensified when the dangling man began laughing maniacally. Slowly, the homunculus began his descent into the vat.

“Like hell this is going to work, Dad! You might be able to kill me, but there is no way in hell that anyone has enough greed, enough avarice, to take me in!!”

The lieutenant colonel shook and tried to force the bile rising in his throat to stay down, where it belonged. He had seen a lot of things throughout his time in the military, but this felt inhumane. Before Greed’s head hit the boiling liquid, Father raised his hand.

“Return to me, Greed.”

A piercing scream reverberated throughout the chamber, and Maes finally lost his battle with sickness. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and lifted his head in time to see red liquid dispensed from a series of tubes into a wine glass.

Father lifted the glass, making eye contact with Hughes. “To new beginnings,” he stated as he tipped the goblet and drank deeply.

Maes was frozen in fear. What the hell did he have to do with any of this? At first, he thought it had to do with his knowledge of the country-wide transmutation circle, but now he wasn’t so sure. Even if the two were connected, in what way?

Slowly advancing towards the lieutenant colonel, Father smiled gently. “Do not be afraid, Maes Hughes. You would be a very valuable asset to me. However, I need to make you a little more…” he paused dramatically, looking at Maes’s wounds, “sturdy.” 

Before Hughes could begin to process the words, a third eye opened on Father’s forehead. It seemed to cry tears of red liquid, not unlike the liquid that was just consumed by the man in white. The substance congealed as it cascaded into Father’s awaiting hand, not quite hardening into a solid, but not quite staying liquid either. 

Lengths of cord shot out of nowhere and forced Hughes into a spread-eagle position on the ground. Father’s hand hovered over the open gunshot wound in his shoulder, and as Maes started to question whether the wound was put there to immobilize him or to give them an available opening into his circulatory system, white-hot pain seared through his body.

The color crimson consumed his vision, first flashing like lightning, then invading in a swirling current of red and black. Hughes’s body convulsed. His joints bent and bowed in grotesque ways; all the while, his tendons tore and healed in an endless cycle of destruction and resurrection. A raw scream ripped from Maes’s throat. Right before he was swallowed by the undertow of red, he could only see the glow of red eyes from the figure in white.

The inferno around him twisted and shaped itself into what looked like a face. A strangely familiar face, with impossibly pointed teeth and cat-shaped eyes, despite the lack of pupils.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the mouth said through unmoving lips. The words which sounded from the phantasm were striated sound as if spoken from a thousand voices at once. “There is no way that you are capable of withstanding the embodiment of Greed the Avaricious! However, if you just hand over your body, I will be sure to take good care of it.”

“If I refuse to hand over my body,” Maes said cautiously, but confidently, “what will happen to me?”

“Well, I’ll have to try to take it by force. And then, if you even survive, you’ll be swallowed into the thousands of souls the Philosopher’s Stone already sustains.”

“I won’t be conscious again if you have to take me by force?”

“No, but why would you want to be?” the face, who Hughes assumed was Greed himself, questioned. “The world is a mess; even you can’t deny that. What in this universe would make you want to see more of it?”

“My family!” Maes answered emphatically, nearly screaming with hysteria. “My wife, my daughter! My best friend…” He trailed off. Quietly, he pleaded, “I just wanted more time.” Thinking quickly, he steeled his nerves.

“Fine then!” he shouted. “Take me! Take my body! I freely give myself to you!”

“Huh?” Greed said. “You’re giving yourself to me?”

“Yes I am,” the lieutenant colonel smiled dangerously. “And, for letting you do so, I won’t lose my consciousness to the Stone. I’ll get to see my darling daughter again.”

“Families are nothing!” Greed countered. “Trust me; I had a wealth of siblings and a father all my own - they did nothing for me. They held me back! And found families are even worse; you trust them, and then they don’t even try to save you. That’s bound to happen to you, too, if you put all your stock in that garbage.”

Maes forcefully shook his head, “You’re wrong! Families are the only thing that makes another turn on this wretched globe worth living. Take me over. Use my body. And I’ll prove to you that you can have it all if you have family and friends willing to take on everything with you.”

An eerie quiet settled within the red and black void as Greed contemplated Maes’s offer. Then, he chuckled menacingly, and Hughes thought for sure he was done for. He began to say a silent goodbye to Gracia, to Elicia, to Roy, and to everyone else who touched his life... 

He was interrupted.

“You’re decisive; I like that! And committed, too. If nothing else, I’m almost guaranteed to succeed if you’re outright accepting me! All right, it is done!” the many voices resounded.

A blinding white light opened up and began to swallow Maes; as more pain wracked his body, he heard Greed say, “Let’s see how ready you are to be avaricious!”

His eyes opened to see the last bolts of red, alchemic energy leaving the body. At first, he was staring at the ceiling, but when the cords holding the body down receded, Greed stood and faced Father.

Hughes suddenly realized he was watching the events around him, as though they were happening on a screen. He had no control over the actions of the body that was once his. He could only see what Greed chose to see. But he could hear what Greed heard, feel what Greed felt. And as he stood before Father as an obedient iteration of the one called Greed, Maes felt the bullet lodged in his shoulder eject and heard it land on the floor. In the next moment, a crackle of red energy realigned the bones and tissue that were damaged, effectively healing the body.

Maes could see Father’s red eyes, glowing in the darkness.

And then he heard, “Welcome back...my avarice.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment (for now) is here! There's a chance that this will be continued in a later story, but consider it complete for now.
> 
> Oops. I meant to have this published almost a week ago. Enjoy your window into my procrastination habits.
> 
> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPC_MPDG). She's pretty awesome, not to mention she gave me a killer ending to this chapter. Thank you, friend <3

For the second time in his life, Hughes was a prisoner inside his own body, confined by walls of tissue and bones like iron bars. He had felt this way after returning from Ishval. Witnessing everything happening around him, yet numb to any sensations.

Food had tasted like nothing, and the texture had always felt wrong. The smells of a friendly neighborhood cookout would leave him feeling queasy. When hearing a child scream in laughter, Maes’s spine would stiffen. He had seen a man with skin darker than his own, and his guard had risen involuntarily, pulse quickening and adrenaline pumping.

It was eerily similar being attached to Greed. Or was Greed attached to him? It was all very confusing, and Maes’s metaphorical head spun every time he tried to think about it.

And what a conundrum that was, seeing as spinning was off the table unless Greed chose to do so.

Regardless, the level of consciousness was similar. Hughes was awake and aware but unable to interact with the world around him. He felt neither the slick leather pants nor the sinfully tight black tank top that Greed chose as clothing. He couldn’t smell the dankness of the underground tunnels.

Nevertheless, he could hear everything that Greed could hear, but it was tinny, almost as if Maes was listening to a radio broadcast. He could see whatever it was that Greed chose to look at, but sometimes the edges weren’t as sharp and crisp as they should have been. It reminded Maes of when he had first recognized that he needed glasses, but the fuzziness around the peripherals of Maes’ vision didn’t seem to affect the homunculus whatsoever. No doubt, Maes was a backseat driver in this equation, craning his neck to see what was crisp and clear to his body’s avaricious master.

Interestingly, Hughes’s body didn’t appear to need glasses at all, actually. And the occasional twinge that had existed in the lieutenant colonel’s lower back after a minor injury in Ishval didn’t seem to exist anymore either, or at least not that the homunculus had let on. Greed had yet to eat or drink – it didn’t seem like homunculi needed to – but Hughes was sure that it would have no taste, no texture. Not to mention Maes felt like he had energy for days, which was a good thing, because the unlikely pair hadn’t slept a wink.

There were plenty of things that Maes couldn’t do since he was no longer in direct control of his own body. The one thing Hughes could do, however, was something that he had always excelled at. He could talk. And it appeared that Greed had to listen to, or at least hear, every single thing that the family man said. So Hughes decided to capitalize on it.

For a few days, Greed ignored him. Maes asked questions.

“So, where are we going?”

“Oh, Avaricious One, what exactly did Father mean when he mentioned sacrifices?”

“Hey, buddy, are we gonna go get lunch? I’m starving.”

“What are your opinions on the current state of Amestris?”

“Have you ever gotten a little freaky with Lust?”

He tried everything he could to get a rise. Greed remained silent.

Maes offered commentary and his opinions on every single thing that Greed did.

“Really, we’re going to go this way to visit Father today? Going to the right is significantly faster.”

“I don’t know, man; do you really think leather looks okay on this body? I’ve let myself go a bit after Elicia was born.”

“Oh for the love of… Please make sure that one section of hair in the front is artfully styled. It looks ridiculous right now!”

“You should really carry a satchel or something. I think it would really pull your whole ensemble together.”

There was no response.

Maes sang, hummed, and whistled the same song on repeat for an entire day. And still no acknowledgment.

But, in between all of his questioning and commenting and musical numbers, Hughes was listening and learning. It didn’t seem that Maes and Greed shared knowledge; the human was still blissfully unaware of a few things that were common knowledge - and therefore went without saying - amongst Father’s inner circle. However, he was able to gather a few morsels of understanding along the way.

If Maes was honest, Greed didn’t seem nearly as bad as his “siblings” or the one who gave the avarice the lieutenant colonel’s body. Greed just went along with the others, did what he was told, answered questions that he was asked. Nowhere along the lines of all the planning the duo attended did Hughes ever get a straight-up bad vibe from his pilot. And there was a lot of planning going on.

There was something coming, a rather big something, called The Promised Day. However, a veil of mystery clouded the big picture. Maes hadn’t been able to gather much information apart from the name and approximate date of the big to-do, but his mind was acutely aware that something sinister lurked beneath the whole of Amestris. On The Promised Day, the nationwide transmutation circle would be activated; Maes was almost sure of it. Still, he was confused about what exactly the sacrifices were needed for.

The lieutenant colonel also pieced together why they needed his body, specifically. At first, he thought he was convenient, a host to replace the insolent avarice before him. He quickly realized, though, that wasn’t the case at all. Maes was needed because he was a military officer.

He was of a decent rank, sure, but he was relatively unknown outside of his immediate circle of friends and coworkers. Hughes tended to keep his head down, playing only the cards required and keeping the rest of his hand close to his chest. Maes had the cunning of a magician and the presence of a pickpocket. He had manipulated the system much in the same way that Roy did. Where Roy put on a playboy persona, Maes doubled down in the opposite direction, painting himself as a family man who did nothing but brag about his darling Elicia and his beautiful wife.

That fact alone would make it significantly easier for Greed to act as Hughes. If anyone started down a line of questioning that the homunculus didn’t know or didn’t want to answer, all he had to do was pull out the flip-book of pictures that Maes kept on his person. It usually made his audience eager to get away as quickly as possible.

It was a pretty good plan, the lieutenant colonel had to admit. However, he wasn’t sure that they had taken Maes keeping his consciousness into account. The most interesting thing about that was Greed hadn’t said a damn thing to anyone about Hughes being cognizant.

Maes knew that Greed could hear him. While Hughes might not be able to make physical contact with the outside world, he could sense Greed’s feelings. And Greed was heavily annoyed that his uninvited houseguest wouldn’t shut up. Naturally, Hughes kept picking.

One afternoon, about a week after the transformation, Greed snapped.

“CUT IT OUT!” he roared, and Maes took a moment to be thankful that they weren’t with the others. This was a secret both parties seemed keen on keeping.

“Oh, sorry, am I bothering you?” Hughes questioned innocently. “This is all so new; I wasn’t sure if you could even hear me.”

“Truth Almighty, you have to be the most persistent asshole in all of Amestris,” Greed grumbled.

“And now you’re stuck with me,” Maes said smugly. “Can we talk a bit? Maybe reach some sort of accord?”

Greed grumbled, and Hughes felt the homunculus’ reluctance crumble into begrudging acceptance.

“Fine,” Greed conceded. “But let’s get one thing straight, family man. I lead this operation, understand?”

Testing the limits of their supposed bond, Hughes allowed a feeling of compliance to fill him. Greed must have understood because he chuckled.

“Good,” the homunculus said.

“Out of curiosity,” Maes started, “if you’re so hell-bent on being in charge, why do you follow Father?”

Greed’s entire being seemed to stutter. Despite being so rattled, the homunculus’ voice was steady and confident.

“I don’t want to be sucked into the philosopher’s stone with the rest of you short-sighted mortals in this sad, circular country.”

Hughes nodded. “Hmm. And what makes you think that Father’s word will hold true? That he’ll save you? I gotta say, this guy just doesn’t seem all that trustworthy. And we have to take his word that you’re standing in just the right spot to not be swallowed up? Seems questionable to me.”

“Well, what do you suppose we do instead?” Greed growled, and Maes could feel a small spike of panic course through the body that was technically his. However, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment at the homunculus’ use of the word “we.”

“Let’s get out of here. I have some friends who are trying to stop all this madness. If we tell them everything that we know, they might be able to put a stop to it sooner.” Longingly, Maes thought of Gracia and Elicia. Was there any chance at convincing Greed to stay permanently with his family?

“Tell you what,” Greed said, startling Hughes out of his thoughts. “If you really think these mere mortals will be able to stop Father, I’ll give it a shot. This whole Father-knows-best routine isn’t exactly my style, and there’s no status if civilization is destroyed.”

Hughes could still feel a shred of reluctance hiding behind the words but decided to capitalize on the positive.

“Greed?” he questioned.

“Huh?”

“I still haven’t forgotten my promise to you. Family is the most important thing. With them, you really do feel like you have everything, the world at your fingertips, a richness you never knew before. Give me a chance to show you.”

Greed just chuckled. Hughes was still filled with yearning, wistful for his wife, for his daughter, for Roy. A different want began to edge in; a wish to return to his old life. He wasn’t sure if this feeling was his or the homunculus’.

“So, can you get us out of here?” Maes added slowly and cautiously. He chose his words wisely, careful not to disturb the uneasy truce.

“Oh absolutely,” Greed responded, a devious grin splitting the face of Maes Hughes.

 

* * *

 

“Bido!” the young blonde girl called out. “It’s you!”

The lizard chimera spun around, recognizing the voice instantly, tail following him. The short wiry blonde’s face cracked a small smile at seeing the lizard - her friend, her family - advance towards her, his gait smooth but still lopsided due to the unnaturalness of a tail on a bipedal creature. “Martel! I can’t believe you’re here!”

How serendipitous it was for the two of them to meet in the sewers under the hustle and bustle of Central City. For Bido, it was too similar to how they departed, and a chill ran down his spine as he eyed the girl’s tattooed neck and shoulder.

“How did you get away? I thought you would still be with the armored brat and the dog of the military he calls a brother!”

“As soon as he carried me to the surface, I made a break for it,” Martel answered. “I couldn’t stay with them! They weren’t even planning to come this way for a few more months! How did you know to come to Central?”

“I didn’t,” Bido answered honestly. “It was pure guesswork. The head of the military is housed in Central, and we were attacked by soldiers. So, I decided to start there, find some clues, and work my way out. You ask that like you did know, though…” he said, an air of suspicion in his voice.

“Stop that,” Martel warned. “I was there, still in the armor, when Bradley said that Greed had to stay alive and make it back to Central. I came here as quickly as I could.”

Bido spoke frantically, “Did he say anything else? Like where specifically they were going?”

“I couldn’t get that lucky,” said the snake chimera.

Bido frowned. “So where do you think we should start? I can’t exactly travel above ground without attracting unwanted attention. But we need to find Greed.”

“Quiet!” hissed Martel suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

The low light of the sewer shrouded the mismatched pair, and they strained their ears and silenced their tongues to better hear a distant disturbance. Echoing footsteps, louder with each stride, were punctuating the quiet babble of water. Looking up, Martel noticed that the pipes along the ceiling were getting more congested. Unfortunately, that meant that it was more difficult for her to hide away in them, though she decided to try if push came to shove; after all, no one ever looks up.

Before another thought of escape could cross her mind, a voice rang out through the tunnel.

“Yes, I know where we’re going, Truth Almighty. Have I told you how annoying you are yet today?”

Something sounded familiar, but Martel wasn’t quite able to place what it was. Bido, however, seemed to notice it instantly. The lizard breathed, “Greed?”

In that moment, a body came in to view, one that walked with the cocky confidence that the avarice she once knew walked with. But this body was unfamiliar. The hair color was the same, he had the ouroboros tattoo in the same spot on his hand, but it was still not the same body.

“Greed!” Bido cried, running towards the new man. Martel scoffed but followed quickly anyway. The two stopped short of plowing into the new Greed.

“Huh? Do I know you?”

Martel’s mouth dropped open. How could Greed forget her? They were a team. Not just her and Greed; all of the chimeras. The ragtag group of misfits bonded over not being able to go back to their families, over being the few that managed to survive. The homunculus had called the chimeras possessions, but Martel always knew better. They were a family. How could he forget his own family?

“Greed, it’s Bido! Bido and Martel! Don’t you remember us?” the lizard chimera pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, you must have known a different Greed. I’m the newest incarnation,” he purred. The light of Greed’s lantern hit the unfamiliar angles of his newest mask, but there was a familiar glint in his eyes which befit his devil-may-care smirk. “I want fame, money -”

“Status, women, yeah, yeah, we know.” Martel rolled her eyes. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Greed asked.

“The plan!” Bido emphasized.

“The plan to get everything? The plan do have it all?” Martel prompted.

“Right, right,” the homunculus said casually. “The plan! The plan is to stop this allegedly evil thing from happening. I’m going to lead everyone to safety. Then, they’ll all be my minions.”

There was a pause. “What do you mean ‘no minions’? You said there would be minions!”

Another pause. “No, I’m pretty sure you promised me people to rule over.”

Martel and Bido shared a look. What the hell was happening?

“Whatever. I’m allowing you to bring in your people, family man. The least you can do is let me rebuild my collection.” Greed’s eyes shifted to the two in front of him. “Say, you wouldn’t want to be my new underlings, would you?”

The two chimeras glanced swiftly at each other before both smiled broadly. World domination was a new one, a much larger goal than the old Greed had ever attempted. Still, the chimeras were content to follow their leader through hell and high sewer water.

“Count us in,” Martel said, with a thumbs up, Bido nodding enthusiastically beside her.

 

* * *

 

“I just don’t understand it, Roy,” Gracia muttered as she placed a teacup on the table in front of him. The delicate porcelain had rattled precariously in Gracia’s shaking hands; now placed on the table, the cup was still and silent. “What enemies did he make that would injure him and then kidnap him?”

For about the seventh time since Roy arrived five minutes ago, Gracia popped her head into the den to ensure Elicia was still there, playing quietly as she had been every time before. Roy always suspected the youngster was smart; it was almost as if she knew that any noise louder than what she was currently making would put her mother over the edge.

“I wish I knew,” Mustang reported, watching his best friend’s wife putter around the kitchen, gathering cookies and other snacks on a plate and depositing them in front of Roy. She began to walk towards the den when Roy called out to her. “Gracia, please come and sit down.” Mustang watched the conflict in the woman’s eyes as she glanced towards the other room. A meaningful look and a small tilt of his head in the direction of the open chair beside his own caused Gracia to relent and drop down into the seat.

Sitting down didn’t quell her nervous energy, though, and Roy was able to see her leg bouncing slightly. He understood. He was also filled with the same nervous energy; it had been almost two and a half weeks since his best friend, since Gracia’s husband, had mysteriously vanished.

“There was a good amount of blood, but not so much that he was mortally wounded. The really strange part was that there was no blood trail leading from the phone booth in any direction. No matter which way we fanned out to search, there wasn’t a drop - not a single drop.”

Gracia sighed, the exhalation coming out shaky. “Do you think someone kidnapped him?” A hopeful note dared to invade her tone.

“The thought crossed my mind,” Roy replied, before continuing gravely. “Look, Gracia, I’m not going to sugar coat this. I’ve known you for too many years to do you a disservice like that. But why? Why take him? If he knew too much, why wouldn’t they just kill him?”

Gracia flinched at his words, and Roy instantly felt worse than he already did. “I think they needed him for something, and he wasn’t going to go without a fight,” he attempted to reassure her. He wasn’t sure that the sympathetic epithet reached her.

“That still leaves who and why, though,” the housewife said frustratedly. “What else have you been able to find out?” There was a hesitation in her question, almost as if she didn’t want to know, but felt as though she needed to ask.

“A map was reported missing from the archive room; Lieutenant Focker, who was the last one to see him, said he was headed there. From the archive room to the phone booth we were able to follow a small blood trail, so he must have already been injured. But that injury definitely wasn’t causing the amount of blood we found in the phone booth.” Roy paused, gathering his thoughts.

Gracia nodded, tentatively encouraging him to continue. A handkerchief was pressed to her mouth, muffling the quiet, shaky whimpers that began throughout Roy’s description of her husband’s injuries. She was told there was blood. She was not told that there was a lot of blood. Fears of her husband not coming back to her magnified. She fought the urge to run into the den to check on Elicia just one more time. But her daughter couldn’t see her with tears running down her face. Gracia knew she had to be strong.

Mustang raised an eyebrow, making sure she was okay to hear more. Her expectant look told him to proceed. “We know it was actually him and not a prank due to the picture at the scene. I wasn’t able to hear anything but muffled voices on the other end of the phone line,” Roy lamented. “Maybe if I had heard something more…”

“Roy, this is not your fault,” Gracia chided. “You’ve already done so much to help. I don’t blame you.” Gracia couldn’t even fault Maes for calling Roy and not her. What was she supposed to do? Drag their three-year-old to some random phone booth in the dark? At least Roy was able to get the bureaucratic wheels turning, and quickly at that.

“Tell me; what else do you know?” She was surer in her question this time.

“Major Armstrong found a piece of paper in the bushes along the way to the phone booth during the preliminary investigation, before I arrived. He recognized it as Maes’s handwriting.”

Gracia leaned forward, eyes searching Roy’s face frantically for any clue. “What did it say?” she prompted.

“Cameron, Liore, Ishval, Fotset, Fisk, and South City.”

“Town names?” Gracia questioned, confused.

“I don’t know either,” Roy surrendered. “It spells ‘CLIFFS’ in the code that he, Riza, and I share. But there really aren’t any cliffs here in Amestris. Creta is the closest place to us that has actual cliffs. I would assume if he were trying to talk about something in the North, he would have said mountains instead of cliffs. I just don’t know, Gracia.” He set his teacup on the table with a little more intensity than intended, rattling the dishes on the table. Apologetically, he looked at his best friend’s wife.

Gently, she took his hand. “I understand Roy. We both want him back. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

A knock at the door interrupted the tender moment. A questioning glance between the two quickly told the other that no one was expected. Roy’s gloves were already on, but as Gracia stood to answer the door, he tugged at them, ensuring they fit snugly and were ready to attack if need be.

Gracia moved hurriedly toward the door, unable to heed the sound of the deadbolt on the other side as it was quickly unlocked. She turned the handle and just as the mechanism unlatched, the door was flung open by the uninvited guest. Roy’s hand rose instantly, ready to snap, but he faltered.

In the doorway stood Maes Hughes, flanked by a blonde and a bald man. Sans glasses, in clothes that Maes would never willingly choose to put on his body, but Maes Hughes nonetheless. A smile unlike any before seen on the face of Maes Hughes leered at them, his arms crossed cockily across his chest. This obviously wasn’t Maes Hughes; the imposing posture alone told both Roy and Gracia that this was not their missing man. And yet, somehow it was.

Gracia pressed her palm against her lips as as fresh tears welled in her eyes. Roy’s mouth still hung open in shock. Suddenly, a voice that wasn’t Maes’s, yet still emanated from his mouth, spoke.

“Hey, guys. What’s up? Did you miss us?”

“Us?” Roy echoed, quickly eyeing up the two that Maes-but-not-Maes brought home with him. “Maes, what is going on?”

Gracia, snapping out of her shocked fugue. “Yes Maes, what is going on? Where have you been?”

Before Gracia had finished her sentence, rapid footfalls sounded against the hardwood floor of the hallway.

“Daddy!” Elicia cried excitedly, as she leapt towards the man in the doorway. Reflex kicked in, and the man that looked like Maes Hughes caught the toddler.

He chuckled, holding her in front of him.

“Not quite, kiddo.”

Seven consciousnesses in six bodies stood in awkward silence, scattered around the apartment’s small foyer. Martel and Bido had questions. Gracia and Roy were hopelessly confused, rendered silent by shock. Only little Elicia seized the moment for what it was worth: an answered prayer. Her beloved father had returned home.

The green-eyed girl threw her arms around Greed’s neck, and at Maes’s fervent behest, the homunculus reluctantly returned the affection. It was torture enough that Maes didn’t get to hug his daughter himself; she shouldn’t be hurt by not receiving a hug from the one she recognized as her father in return.

There would be time, Greed rationalized, to make them all understand the intricacies of this peculiar melding of minds and body. Time to plot and wrestle the nation from the grasp of Father and his stupidly loyal siblings. There might even be a moment or two to explore this notion of family that Hughes kept blathering on about. At last, Greed would have the opportunity to claw his way to the top of the food chain using his brand new Maes Hughes suit. He only hoped that he’d enjoy the destination as much as the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along this journey with me. As always, kudos, bookmarks, and especially comments are welcomed.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two should be coming soon! In the meantime, every kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscription gives me joy! Come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vino-and-doggos)!


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